also,” she admitted. “I agree,
though, that it seems unnecessary. Thankfully it no longer seems that Henry
thinks of me as a potential paramour.”
“I must admit that I was quite worried about that little
kiss he bestowed upon you in Paris,” Bertie replied. “I should have known that
you would handle it with your customary aplomb. You do have a way of deflecting
a man’s advances. Puts me in mind of my Anna.”
“Where do you think I learned it?” Bea asked with a laugh.
She had learned much from Anna Forsythe in the years they had spent traveling
the continent together after her father’s death.
“Just so.” He chuckled. “There is one more reason I believe
this unexpected spark, as Henry so aptly termed it, might be just the thing.”
“Yes?” she asked, although she thought she knew. She had
thought of little else over the last week.
“I’ve known Easton since he was in leading strings. He’s a
perceptive, suspicious sort. If he believes, as do the gossips, that you have a
mind to seduce young Henry, he will surely dissuade his cousin from seeing
you.”
“So I should seduce Easton?” Bea asked with a giggle.
“Who said anything about seduction?” her countered. “You
have only to flirt with the man, turn his head with your attentions. From what
I have seen thus far you should have no difficulty. I am suggesting a small
dalliance, nothing more.”
“A dalliance,” Bea mused.
“I said as much to Henry.”
“You told Henry that?” she asked in surprise. “But why?”
“To give him fair warning, I suppose. To put the idea in his
head so that he would not be taken by surprise. I also reminded him that you
would be leaving in a matter of weeks so that he would understand that you
would not take it for more than it could be.”
“You told him that? But, that makes me seem—I don’t know,
loose, fast.”
“Nonsense. We can’t have him worrying that you will begin to
dream of marriage and happily ever after.”
“Of course not,” she agreed. She knew perfectly well that
nothing could come of this mad attraction she felt for Lord Easton.
“I believe you are well on your way to securing Henry’s
affections so not only would he worry for his cousin but for you, as well.”
“Me?” she asked. “Why should he worry for me?”
“Why, for the very same reason he no longer looks upon you
as a possible paramour. On some unconscious level he feels the same bond you
do. He doesn’t have the benefit of comprehending it, as you do. But he feels it
nonetheless.”
Bea sat up straight as the carriage came to a halt before a
stately town house, the home of Mrs. Southern, longtime mistress of Lord
Sydney, and a great friend of Bertie and Anna.
“We think alike, you and I,” Bertie said, ignoring the
footman waiting in the open carriage door to assist them down. “We always have,
ever since you were a little girl gamboling about the hills and woods of
Idyllwild. Are we of like mind now?”
“We are,” she answered. “I also think I would be good for
Lord Easton. He needs to be loved, I believe.”
“Love, Beatrice?” Bertie asked. He was clearly alarmed to
hear the word spoken by her in relation to their conversation. “I said nothing
of love. And neither should you. You must not even think of it.”
“Oh Bertie,” she said softly, raising her hand to his cheek.
“He is William’s son, so I love him already. I loved him the moment I saw him.”
Bertie pulled Beatrice into his arms for a quick, fierce hug
before holding her at arm’s length to look into her eyes. “You must be careful
in this, Bea, very careful. Do not lose sight of the goal, girl.”
“As if I ever could. I will get Idyllwild back.”
Bertie finally allowed the footman to assist him down and
turned to hold out his hand to Beatrice. As they walked up the short set of
stairs to the door held open by a uniformed livery, she whispered to him, “I
will get Idyllwild back, Bertie, for all of us. But I
though, that it seems unnecessary. Thankfully it no longer seems that Henry
thinks of me as a potential paramour.”
“I must admit that I was quite worried about that little
kiss he bestowed upon you in Paris,” Bertie replied. “I should have known that
you would handle it with your customary aplomb. You do have a way of deflecting
a man’s advances. Puts me in mind of my Anna.”
“Where do you think I learned it?” Bea asked with a laugh.
She had learned much from Anna Forsythe in the years they had spent traveling
the continent together after her father’s death.
“Just so.” He chuckled. “There is one more reason I believe
this unexpected spark, as Henry so aptly termed it, might be just the thing.”
“Yes?” she asked, although she thought she knew. She had
thought of little else over the last week.
“I’ve known Easton since he was in leading strings. He’s a
perceptive, suspicious sort. If he believes, as do the gossips, that you have a
mind to seduce young Henry, he will surely dissuade his cousin from seeing
you.”
“So I should seduce Easton?” Bea asked with a giggle.
“Who said anything about seduction?” her countered. “You
have only to flirt with the man, turn his head with your attentions. From what
I have seen thus far you should have no difficulty. I am suggesting a small
dalliance, nothing more.”
“A dalliance,” Bea mused.
“I said as much to Henry.”
“You told Henry that?” she asked in surprise. “But why?”
“To give him fair warning, I suppose. To put the idea in his
head so that he would not be taken by surprise. I also reminded him that you
would be leaving in a matter of weeks so that he would understand that you
would not take it for more than it could be.”
“You told him that? But, that makes me seem—I don’t know,
loose, fast.”
“Nonsense. We can’t have him worrying that you will begin to
dream of marriage and happily ever after.”
“Of course not,” she agreed. She knew perfectly well that
nothing could come of this mad attraction she felt for Lord Easton.
“I believe you are well on your way to securing Henry’s
affections so not only would he worry for his cousin but for you, as well.”
“Me?” she asked. “Why should he worry for me?”
“Why, for the very same reason he no longer looks upon you
as a possible paramour. On some unconscious level he feels the same bond you
do. He doesn’t have the benefit of comprehending it, as you do. But he feels it
nonetheless.”
Bea sat up straight as the carriage came to a halt before a
stately town house, the home of Mrs. Southern, longtime mistress of Lord
Sydney, and a great friend of Bertie and Anna.
“We think alike, you and I,” Bertie said, ignoring the
footman waiting in the open carriage door to assist them down. “We always have,
ever since you were a little girl gamboling about the hills and woods of
Idyllwild. Are we of like mind now?”
“We are,” she answered. “I also think I would be good for
Lord Easton. He needs to be loved, I believe.”
“Love, Beatrice?” Bertie asked. He was clearly alarmed to
hear the word spoken by her in relation to their conversation. “I said nothing
of love. And neither should you. You must not even think of it.”
“Oh Bertie,” she said softly, raising her hand to his cheek.
“He is William’s son, so I love him already. I loved him the moment I saw him.”
Bertie pulled Beatrice into his arms for a quick, fierce hug
before holding her at arm’s length to look into her eyes. “You must be careful
in this, Bea, very careful. Do not lose sight of the goal, girl.”
“As if I ever could. I will get Idyllwild back.”
Bertie finally allowed the footman to assist him down and
turned to hold out his hand to Beatrice. As they walked up the short set of
stairs to the door held open by a uniformed livery, she whispered to him, “I
will get Idyllwild back, Bertie, for all of us. But I
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